


Ghost of Friendship Past

by biblionerd07



Series: Brothers Our Whole Lives [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Epic Bromance, Gen, Time Travel, wounded Bass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:33:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1195245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biblionerd07/pseuds/biblionerd07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles is dragging a wounded Bass out of New Vegas when an explosive sends them to a very familiar place (and time), and their own younger selves remind them about true friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of Friendship Past

Miles had one arm around Bass’s waist and was practically dragging him through a hailstorm of bullets. For a second he couldn’t quite remember what fight this was, which war, which country, which enemy. This was such familiar territory.

But then Charlie was yelling at him and Connor was with her and he remembered where they were—New Vegas. He’d gone to tell Bass to lay low for a while to avoid Neville and had found Charlie heading up a rescue mission. And here he was, saving Bass’s ass, yet again.

“Get into the trees!” He yelled at Charlie. Damn kid didn’t know how to dodge bullets. Bass was limping along, trying to support his own weight, but he had a shallow sword slice in his side and a bullet had grazed one leg. Plus he’d let Connor beat the shit out of him in some stupid cage fight that was supposed to be to the death. New Vegas was a weird place.

“Miles, go.” Bass grabbed onto a tree and tried to detach himself from Miles.

“What?” Miles asked, not letting go.

“You’re not going to get out of here if you’re dragging me, too.” Bass was panting, unable to get a full breath because of the wound in his side and a rib that was probably broken.

“You think I’m just going to ditch you by a tree and run?” Miles had to yell to be heard over the sounds of destruction behind them.

“You will if you want to live!” Bass shouted back.

“No!” Miles growled. Bass shoved him.

“Get going!” He yelled like he was chasing away a stray dog. Miles refused to budge and Bass added, “If you stay here, you’ll never see Rachel again.” His voice was raw and he couldn’t look Miles in the eye. Miles hesitated. Obviously he wanted to get back to Rachel. But could he really just leave Bass? He took a step back from Bass, not fully committing to leaving but edging far enough in that direction to make Bass turn his head away.

The ground exploded around them and everything went black.

 

When Miles came to, the world around him was still. His ears weren’t ringing, which was strange after a bomb blast. He must’ve been out for a long time. He could hear birds chirping and…cars? It sounded like cars whizzing by somewhere off in the distance. He sat up slowly, assessing himself for damage. He was sore, and he could feel a little trickle of blood from his forehead, but otherwise he felt fine.

“Bass?” He tried. His throat was so dry hardly any sound came out. He swallowed and cleared his throat before trying again.

“I’m here.” Bass said. Miles turned to find him face down in the leaves, breathing shallowly. Miles crawled over to him, not quite ready to try standing up just yet, and helped him roll over and sit up. One eye was swollen almost completely shut, and his lip was all busted up, but Miles couldn’t remember if that damage had been from the fight or whatever bomb had gone off.

“Can you sit up?” Miles asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” Bass lied, wincing as he sat up. Miles could see bruises clustering around his neck where he must have hit something. Miles got to his feet cautiously and carefully helped Bass do the same.

“We must’ve been out a long time.” Bass said, looking around. He had a weird look on his face. “Miles, do you hear...cars?” He asked tentatively.

“I don’t know.” Miles gave him a look. “I thought I was imagining it.”

“Well, we both are, then.”

“We need to get back.” The hair on the back of Miles’s neck was standing up. There was something about these trees…

“Do you hear that?” Bass flung out an arm to stop Miles, head cocked to the side and eyes wide. They could hear voices, but it was the voices themselves that were making Miles’s heart pound.

There was no mistaking that voice—high-pitched, a little throaty, and so familiar to Miles he could construct new sentences in it. He had heard that voice basically every day of his entire childhood. It was _Bass_.

“That’s you.” Miles said automatically. “I mean…it _was_ you. I—what’s going on?”

“Shh, listen.” Bass had his head turned toward the sound. The young Bass’s voice was being answered by a raspy, annoyed-sounding voice and Miles’s eyes were huge in his face. That was _his_ voice, back when he’d been a kid.

“Miles.” Bass whispered, pointing at something. Miles craned his neck and stopped breathing for a second. They were in the woods across from their old elementary school, where they’d spent every afternoon until well into puberty. Bass was pointing at their old hideout, an abandoned shed they’d been expressly forbidden from entering.

“Come on.” Miles hauled Bass back, behind some thicker trees, as the voices started getting closer.

“We’re gonna freak out when we see us.” Bass breathed. Miles wasn’t sure which we Bass was expecting to freak out more—the old or the young.

They came around a corner then and there was no mistaking it. It was Miles and Bass, around age ten. Bass’s curls were getting ridiculously long, a stark contrast to Miles’s almost-shaved head, courtesy of his father. If Miles remembered correctly, the buzz cut was a punishment for taking out his dad’s war medals and wearing them around the neighborhood.

“But that’s not fair.” Young Miles was saying.

“I know.” Young Bass answered. “That’s what I said, but she wouldn’t listen.” They were both carrying backpacks, and Miles suddenly remembered what was happening—they were running away. They were planning to spend the summer on the run, because Bass’s mom was taking him and his new little sister away to his grandma's house for a whole month out of the summer.

“Miles.” Bass hissed beside him. “Remember this?” Miles nodded, wondering what the hell kind of bomb had caused this hallucination.

“Did you hear that?” Young Bass stopped and was looking around suspiciously. He’d thrown an arm across Young Miles’s chest to stop him from walking forward and Miles had to cover his own mouth to stop from making a noise. Somehow throughout the years Miles had forgotten that Bass had _always_ stopped him that way.

“What is it?” Young Miles asked, not sure what he was looking for but scanning the woods anyway. If Bass said something was out there, he’d look.

“Come out!” Young Bass called. “We know you’re there and we’re not afraid to fight you. Show yourself.”

Miles looked at Bass and rolled his eyes, smirking. Bass had always been a little dramatic, not to mention overconfident. Bass shrugged at him and slowly started walking toward the boys. Miles sighed and followed him.

“Who are you?” Young Miles, YM as Miles was thinking in his head, asked bravely. He and the little Bass—Miles decided if his younger self was YM Bass would have to be YB—had drawn closer together instinctively, shoulder to shoulder and both holding branches up as wooden swords.

“Uh…” Bass looked at Miles. How were they supposed to explain who they were? Miles gave Bass a look that said _don’t be ridiculous_. Did Bass seriously think this was real?

“Whoa.” YB had caught sight of them, bloodied up and limping, and his eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head.

“We’re not going to hurt you.” Bass promised, holding up his hands.

“That guy has a sword.” YM whispered, panicked, to YB from the side of his mouth. YB gulped as he noticed Miles’s sword.

“Are you murderers?” YB asked. Bass snorted.

“I always thought I was smart." He muttered to Miles, adding to the boys, "Would we tell you if we were?”

“Don’t freak them out, Bass.” Miles scolded automatically.

“What’d you just call him?” YM demanded. Bass gave him an exasperated look.

“Oh, smooth, Miles.” He muttered.

“What?” YB was looking back and forth between them frantically.

“Look, guys, calm down—” Miles tried to say.

“Bass, they’re probably perverts.” YM said, reminding them of all the times Ben had warned them against such an evil. He grabbed YB’s arm. “We gotta get out of here.”

“We’re not perverts.” Bass said defensively. “We’re you.”

The boys stopped and a conversation passed between them with their eyes. It made Miles’s heart clench a little, because there was all the evidence of how close they’d been. Bass made a little noise beside him and Miles knew he’d felt it, too.

YB stepped close hesitantly. “Can you prove it?” He asked.

“Prove it how?” Miles asked.

“Here, look.” Bass pulled up his shirt, hissing a little with the pain of the movement. “Remember getting your appendix out?” He let YB come close and examine the scar. It was almost hard to find, since Bass’s body was so scarred these days. Miles winced as Bass inadvertently exposed the sword wound.

“Did someone stab you?” YB asked nervously. Bass pulled his shirt back down.

“I’ve had worse.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant. His face was getting paler by the minute.

“You should sit down.” Miles told him.

“What about you?” YB demanded. “Got any proof?” Miles glared at him. He remembered thinking Bass was smart and brave when he’d been sassy to adults, but now, as an adult himself, Bass was an annoying little kid. No wonder they’d always been in trouble.

“Well, that glare kinda proves it.” YB muttered. Bass laughed, wheezing a little. Miles went over to him and started pushing him down.

“Sit down, Bass.”

“I’m fine.” Bass insisted, sweat popping out on his forehead.

“No, you’re not.” Miles guided him to the ground. “Come on, just take a little break.”

When he looked up at the younger versions of themselves again, both boys were staring at them with wide eyes before turning to one another.

“Do you think so?” YB asked incredulously.

“It sounds like us. Right?” YM still needed confirmation and Miles shook his head. He never could believe anything until Bass said it was true.

“You always say take a little break.”

“And you always try not to.” YM pointed out. “But how could we look so _old_?” Miles and Bass exchanged semi-amused, semi-annoyed looks. They weren’t that old.

“Hey, you try getting blown up and we’ll see how good you look.” Bass groused. The boys remembered the subjects of their excitement and turned back to look at them. YB cautiously approached Miles where he was sitting on the ground beside Bass.

“Can I just…see something?” He asked tentatively. Miles shrugged at him, unsure. YB came close and stared at him. Miles was holding his breath. He recognized every little freckle on that face. This was the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him—he could hear Bass’s ragged breathing beside him, but he was looking at a perfect, innocent memory.

YB stuck out one finger and touched Miles’s forehead. His eyes widened and he tilted his head, squinting a little. Miles’s eyes flicked to his younger self. He was more reserved, of course, but he was examining Bass’s face for hints of his best friend. YB drew back and they conferred.

“That’s you.” YB said surely.

“Yeah, and that’s definitely you.” YM agreed. “He’s got your scar on your forehead.”

“This is weird.” YB whispered. “Do you think we’re going crazy?”

“Well, we can’t both be crazy, right?” YM said logically. Miles barked out a little laugh. The little guy would learn that lesson soon enough. Miles’s laugh drew the boys’ attention back.

“Do you guys want to come to our clubhouse?” YB asked, giving YM a secret, meaningful look. “You sound kind of thirsty.”

Miles helped Bass to his feet and they staggered the few feet to the concrete shack. “They’re not gonna have anything for you to drink.” Bass joked. Miles snorted. Even _he_ hadn’t been into whiskey at ten.

The boys were watching intently as they approached the door and Miles watched their faces go from suspicious to incredulous as they watched first Bass and then Miles press a palm to the M carved into the door.

“Yeah, we remember.” Bass said with a smile. Miles chuckled a little. The M was crude and lopsided, because a pocketknife wasn’t ideal for that kind of woodwork, and Miles had almost taken off his finger doing his half of it.

“Damn.” YM said. It was a daring swear word for his age, confirmed by the impressed look YB gave him. Miles helped Bass into a chair and took a seat on the ground, groaning a little as his joints protested. Their young selves were going to their secret soda stash and pulling out four cans.

“Did you see your grown-up abs?” YM asked YB quietly. “Like a G.I. Joe.”

“And you have a sword.” YB crowed in a whisper. Bass and Miles looked at one another and laughed quietly.

“So are we soldiers or something?” YM asked, eyeing Miles’s sword. Bass ran a hand through his hair.

“Something.” He said with a little shake of his head.

“We were Marines.” Miles added. The boys high fived.

“Marines are the most hardcore!” YM declared. Miles felt incredibly exhausted and dirty. Not dirty from the grime covering his body; he felt dirty because of everything he’d done in his life, all the people he'd killed, sleeping with his brother's _wife_. Here was his innocence personified, and he couldn’t be further from it these days.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Bass said quietly, looking down.

“How’d we get stabbed?” YB asked reverently. Miles felt uncomfortable with the hero worship in both boys’ eyes, especially the awe in those big, blue eyes of the young Bass. Miles could remember when he’d looked like that, all smiles and trust and wonder. He glanced over at the hardened version of his best friend and mourned the little boy in front of him.

“Running out of a fight.” Bass said. “A fight with…a younger guy.”

“We don’t fight littler kids.” YM interjected accusingly.

“It wasn’t his choice.” Miles found himself defending Bass to a younger version of himself. This was seriously weird if he let himself think about it. “If he didn’t fight they’d kill him.”

“They were gonna kill you?” YB’s eyes were perfectly round.

“Not me.” Bass laughed mirthlessly. “My son.”

“You have a son?” YM giggled, wrinkling his nose at YB. “Bass, do you know what that means you did with a _girl_?”

“Ew, shut up.” YB insisted. Miles couldn’t help but laugh. He’d forgotten their war on girls when they were young.

“And you saved him?” YM asked Miles. Miles bit his lip. Had he? He’d gotten there as Charlie was saving him. He’d gotten there after Bass had pulled himself out of that ring, after Bass had shoved Connor out first. He’d gotten there after Bass had been stabbed and almost shot. And then he’d almost left him.

“Not really.” Miles admitted quietly. Both younger boys looked surprised.

“What?” YB said. “Of course you did.” He said it like it was obvious, like Miles had just forgotten what had happened. “Miles always saves me. And I always save Miles.”

“Always.” YM confirmed. Miles clenched his teeth, steadfastly avoiding looking at Bass.

“Things get a little more complicated when you’re older.” Bass said quietly. Miles could hear a hint of tears in Bass’s voice that tore at him.

“How complicated could it be to save each other?” YM had a hard edge to his voice now, a glare on his little face that Bass sighed when he saw. Some things never changed.

“Life’s hard in the future.” Bass explained. “A lot of things—”

“So if life’s hard then we would stick together.” YB interrupted. He was upset; Bass had always been better at reading people than Miles, and even this ten-year-old could sense that something had gone wrong between them. YM heard the new tone in his voice and looked at him questioningly. Again, they spoke silently, and again, Miles looked away. Unfortunately, he looked away at the same time Bass did, and they found themselves making eye contact. Seeing the light sheen of tears in Bass’s eyes made Miles close his and exhale hard. Bass’s tears always gave Miles a visceral reaction.

“It’s our fault. Tried to kill Bass.” Miles told YM, and the look of devastated acceptance made Miles feel like someone had punched him. So young, and he’d already started hating himself. He wasn’t disbelieving, he didn’t proclaim Miles wrong because he’d never do it. He believed himself capable of it and Miles saw self-loathing in his eyes.

“No.” YB said. “No way.” He held his hands up, like he could stop Miles’s words and stop everything Miles was saying. “There is no way Miles would try to kill me.”

“Well, we’re not exactly perfect, kid.” Bass broke in. “We killed a lot of people. Miles _had_ to kill me to save people from me.”

YB looked gutted. “I’m going to kill people?” He asked in a small voice.

“More people than you’ll ever be able to count. People in Iraq, people in your own country. People are going to come to you for protection and you’re going to shoot them, you’re going to hang them, you’re going to stab them right through the heart.” Bass was spitting the words angrily, tears starting to get caught in his eyelashes. His tortured face was almost mirrored by his younger self, who had started to cry as well. YM leapt to his feet.

“Bass would never do that!” He shot back. “You’re lying and you better shut up right now or…or…” His hands balled into fists as he looked around desperately. YB sniffled and YM sat back down beside him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and a glare at Bass.

“A lot of terrible things happen.” Miles clarified gently. “When you go to war, you don’t have a choice. You have to kill people. And when you’re the president, you have to make tough decisions. Sometimes you have to do the dirty work. Sometimes people make you do the dirty work they should do themselves.” He was looking at the young boys as he gave his little speech, but his soft words were for Bass.

“President?” YB squeaked out.

“Told you.” YM murmured.

“You go a little crazy when you go grow up.” Bass said to his younger version. “And by the time you stop being crazy, it’s too late. You can’t fix anything. And it’s your fault M—people hate you.”

A silence followed his words as the younger boys tried to process what he’d said. YM turned accusing eyes to Miles.

“So why didn’t you save him?” He demanded. “If people were making him kill other people, why didn’t you save him from those people?”

Miles was breathing hard. “I tried to save him.” He said softly. “That’s why I left. I was the one making him do it. So I saved him from me.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.” Bass protested. “I lost it, Miles.”

“It can’t be too late.” YM declared. “You’re together now, right?”

Bass and Miles exchanged an uneasy look. “We’re just killing more people.” Bass shook his head.

“Why don’t you stop?” YB asked. Miles laughed. Everything seemed so simple when you were ten.

“Are you at least on the same side?” YM asked. He wasn’t quite pessimistic yet, but he understood a little better that the world was ugly. His family was teaching him that already.

“Sorta.” Miles shrugged.

“We should always be on the same side.” YB said. “We’re a team.”

Miles and Bass stayed quiet. They _had_ been a team. They’d always been on the same side. Somehow that had changed, and neither of them knew when or how. So much lay between them now, death threats and dead family members and so many hurts, physical and mental. To ten-year-olds who’d never been apart, it seemed easy—just be friends again. But life wasn’t that easy. Bass looked at him, biting his lip to keep the tears from sliding down his cheeks.

“Did you miss each other?” YM asked quietly.

“Yeah.” Bass whispered, glancing down into his lap.

“A lot.” Miles admitted. Bass looked at him quickly. Miles had never openly admitted he’d missed Bass. He hadn’t denied it when Bass had said it, but he’d never said it.

“Please don’t make me kill anyone.” YB begged. It sent Bass over the edge and he lost the fight with his tears. He didn’t brush them away—he never did. He just closed his eyes to let the ones that had already escaped roll away and hide the ones still unshed.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Miles said. He didn’t know which Bass he was talking to.

“It wasn’t yours, either.” Bass responded quietly. Bass opened his eyes and took a deep breath. “You gotta get home.” He told the boys. “Don’t piss off your dad.” He said sadly to YM. YB looked at his friend with big eyes.

“He’s right.” YB whispered.

“Go to Bass’s.” Miles suggested. “His mom’ll call and make it okay.”

“Don’t run away.” Bass said with a tired, ragged laugh. “It won’t work. Ask if Miles can come.”

“Will that work?” YB asked hopefully.

“Nope.” Miles shot him down with a chuckle. “But it’ll make the trip shorter by two weeks.” He looked at the younger Bass again, pain filling his whole body. Bass had been so innocent. He was smart, but so gullible, and it got his heart broken so many times. He loved easily and fully; it was why he’d followed Miles into any and every situation. It took twenty-eight years of war and heartbreak before he lost his family and started to believe the world wasn’t as good as he’d thought. Even then, he’d still limped on, still trusted Miles and followed him, and he’d still been able to love. And when _that_ was taken away, he’d let Miles convince him there was still something to live for. And then Miles had made him kill people, and Miles had made him president, and Miles had shut him in an office and ran away to war, and Miles had tried to kill him and left him.

This Bass still believed in magic and love and happiness and Miles. Miles glanced at the man slumped in the chair beside him and all he saw was pain and fear and disappointment and self-loathing. But then Bass glanced down at him, and Miles saw a spark of something in the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut. It was a little hope, just a shot, and Miles understood in a rush—it was that belief in Miles. Miles ran from Bass because he thought they ruined one another, but Bass ran after him because Bass thought they fixed one another.

Miles looked at the two little boys in front of him, comforting one another, laughing secretly together, and felt a little hope well up in himself. Maybe Bass was right. Maybe instead of chasing each other, kicking each other’s asses, as he’d once said, they could catch each other and start to fix it all.

**Author's Note:**

> This went through so many versions. First it was going to be just Miles and he was only going to find his own baby self. And then it was going to be just Miles and he was only going to find Baby Bass. And then it was going to be only Bass and he was going to his own baby self. And then it was going to be both of them but they weren't going to talk to their baby selves. The just Miles and Baby Bass version was my second choice...maybe someday I'll flesh that one out.


End file.
